the (long) story of my dog-obsessed childhood + what a dog means to me

I’m not really sure why, at 5-years-old, I became so rabidly obsessed with dogs. And I’m not sure why my heart attached to golden retrievers in particular. But there was some force that pulled me to them despite being of Indian origin. Generally speaking, Indians don’t really do the whole “having a dog” thing. As with everything else in my life, I was an oddity.

Cliche as it was, I began writing Christmas wishlists and a golden retriever puppy was always number one. I hoped to see a big box under our tree that would wiggle and reveal a puppy. It never happened, but I didn’t let it get me down. I found other ways to feed my obsession until that pup and I would meet.

I subscribed to Dog Fancy magazine just so I could get the first free issue, treasure it and then cancel my subscription before getting charged. I bought all sorts of golden retriever tchotchkes, from journals and stickers to folders and greeting cards I never planned to send. I once cried when the Lisa Frank puppy Trapper Keeper at Staples sold out. (I bought a Lisa Frank puppy notepad instead.) I’d visit the library at my elementary school at least once a week and read the same book, which listed the pros and cons of each dog breed. I was jealous of a family in the neighborhood who had seven dogs. One day, after my mom had heard enough from me about how awesome their house must be, she sarcastically (or not?) told me to go live with them. Hmm, interesting idea. I’d go to Shake-a-Paw, a puppy store in my hometown, almost every weekend with my dad, the only member of my family who understood that dogs are rad. We of course never bought one; I knew better than to buy from a puppy store, but it was more because it just wasn’t a reality for my otherwise dog-phobic family. My parents got me a remote control shih tzu toy one Christmas. It was a pathetic replacement, but I still played with it. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?

But one day in sixth grade, while checking the dog classifieds in the local paper as I’d always do, I found a listing for a new litter of golden retrievers. Shockingly, my dad was willing to take me. Even more shockingly, once we got there, my dad was open to bringing one home. And so it was decided: We were getting a dog! Forget the fact that we weren’t prepared, had no supplies and were completely clueless — we were getting a dog! (I take after my dad in the rash and impetuous department.)

I was thrilled, but it wasn’t easy. I didn’t know how to train him, my mom and brother were less than enthusiastic about our new four-legged friend, and my dad, the only one who likes dogs, would return home from work way too late to come to my rescue. We were all helpless. Even I felt pretty rotten. So 10 days later, we gave him back. Considering how ill-equipped we were to have a dog, I couldn’t really argue the decision. I didn’t go into the breeder’s house that day and instead sat in the car and cried my eyes out. I wrote all sorts of wistful things in my golden retriever-print journal for the next few days. (I recently rediscovered that journal, and yikes, I was dramatic.)

As I went on the middle school and high school, thoughts about wanting a dog turned into thoughts about school dances, SATs, college applications and prom. Once I went to college, it wasn’t practical. But then I moved to New York and it all came surging back. It’s pretty surprising just how many New Yorkers own dogs — even big ones — despite cramped spaces. Being surrounded by so many lucky dog owners didn’t help my cause. My New York friends would see it. I’d walk into incoming traffic just to follow a dog. I’d mysteriously disappear from an active conversation only for them to find me petting a nearby pup. I often planned my jogs to pass by Tompkins Square Park just so I could watch the dogs At this point, Eaman, who previously didn’t like dogs, came around. I mean, what choice did I really give him?

Cut to our big move to San Diego, America’s most dog-friendly city, I’d like to think. We knew this was where it would finally happen; there was foreseeable stability for once. So in the grand search for our first California home, a dog-friendly apartment was the number one criteria. (We turned away many nice apartments that didn’t allow big breeds or pets at all.) Being by the park — for us and for the dog — was a close second requirement. Oh and a dishwasher, dedicated parking space and nice kitchen would be fab, too.

As we began our new life here, even I agreed that it was too soon to get a dog. Getting work and an unfurnished apartment to feel like home were important. But sooner than we expected, freelance assignments headed our way, opportunities arose and suddenly, we were doing OK. A month ago, we talked about how we could start thinking about a dog. Two weeks ago, something compelled me to call a breeder who had a new litter of golden retriever puppies.

“I’m interested in your puppies,” I said.

“They’re all spoken for,” he said. “They usually get claimed as soon as the mom gives birth. But we have a possible new litter coming that will be ready to go home in July.”

July?! I put my name on the wait list. Down in the dumps was I.

That same day, Eaman and I went for a walk, and in a weird, fateful twist, we saw a golden retriever puppy. Mind you, because puppies need all their shots before stepping out for a walk, it’s rare to see such a young dog out and about. I petted the little one and accosted the guy for information on where this puppy came from. As it turns out, he was just the owner’s roommate. He had no information for us.

The puppy scampered off with the roommate, and I began crying. A lot. (If you didn’t think I was nuts before, you’ll definitely think so now.) I was almost inconsolable. I just couldn’t wait anymore. I had to have a dog now.

I went home and put together a list of about 15 breeders within a 2-hour driving radius. I called and/or emailed each of then, desperate for news of an upcoming litter. Most were too expensive ($1700, $2000, seriously?!), other litters were already spoken for and some breeders had no plans for pups in the near future.

The next day, in a noisy restaurant, I randomly grabbed for my phone without hearing a ring or feeling a vibrate and saw that an unknown number was calling. It was the last breeder on my list with word that her female golden’s litter would be ready to be taken home the first week of April. We wanted a male because they’re bigger, and she told us she had three boys to choose from. The breeder seemed legit, the price was right, the distance not too far — was this actually happening?

And there we were that Sunday morning, March 24, stepping onto their porch only to find a litter of Hollywood-worthy golden retriever puppies clamoring for our attention. They were, in a word, perfect.

It was a tough choice deciding, but ultimately we went with a male puppy with the calmer (by a fraction) personality. We brought him home last Monday and it’s been a non-stop party of cuddling, petting, training, pee- and poop-cleaning, not to mention sleepless nights that I completely forget about once Teddy licks my nose.

So now that the history lesson has come to an end, what’s the point? What does a dog mean to me? Why was I crying so much?!

A dog, especially goldens, want nothing more than your love, affection and attention. But it’s more accurate to call it a symbiotic relationship. I give them love; they give me a reason to stress less, smile more and play like a kid. As soon as my anxious, bored, unmotivated self meets any dog, the negativity washes away. I’m not exaggerating; it’s happened multiple times and nothing else boosts me back up the way a dog can. Sure, having a dog means extra costs, the physically draining puppy stage, travel conundrums and frantic runs to the vet when I realize he’s swallowed a Bananagram tile, but I already know that the pros will outweigh the cons. It’s all about how you see things.

You might think that all a dog does is eat, sleep, play and explore. But what’s wrong with that? Is that not the kind of life we should all aspire to live? Dogs remind us to keep it simple. They remind us to get outside. They remind us to take a nap. And they remind us to get excited about the most trivial of things. They’re fiercely loyal, exceedingly loving and always happy to see you.

I think this quote from Marley & Me sums it up best:

A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water log stick will do just fine. A dog doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he’ll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?

There are few things in life that bring my such raw, unadulterated joy as interacting with a dog. I can’t believe I’m in this position now after 23 years of waiting. It’s been a long road to say the least. But the credit goes to Eaman. (Monday was our anniversary, by the way, and though we don’t glorify these things, 7 years — wow!) Eaman says he’s never seen anyone want one thing so badly for so long, and he’s probably right. Not only did he buy Teddy for us, but he’s become my unflinching partner in all this as well. I can tell you it’d be near impossible to handle this puppy by myself.

And there it is. My story laid out in all its embarrassment and possible glory. To my friends, now maybe you understand why I’m so nuts. Readers, expect more pictures, updates and videos from time to time. I can’t help myself.

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Photo credit unknown (I hate not crediting sources, so if someone knows it, please let me know.)